


Respite

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Episode Related, Fluff, M/M, episode 180 spoilers, happy september 25 aka jonmartin anniversary day!, rating is for swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: SPOILERS FOR MAG 180!!!When Jonathan Sims awoke, it was to early morning light in his eyes, the soft sound of birds chirping outside the window, and the warm weight of Martin Blackwood sleeping peacefully in his arms.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 52
Kudos: 280





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have no idea what the inside of fancy houses look like, the descriptions in this are mainly guesswork based on stuff I've seen on HGTV and period movies.

When Jonathan Sims awoke, it was to early morning light in his eyes, the soft sound of birds chirping outside the window, and the warm weight of Martin Blackwood sleeping peacefully in his arms.

He yawned, once, then tilted his head to nuzzle into Martin's hair, pressing small kisses wherever his lips happened to land. Morning had quickly become one of his favorite parts of the day since they'd arrived in Scotland, with the slow intimacy of the shared start to the day.

Martin made a soft noise, stirring a bit under Jon's attention. His hands tightened in the front of Jon's shirt, and he burrowed closer, blocking out the sunlight by the simple means of pressing his face into Jon's chest.

Jon laughed softly into his hair, wrapping his arms more securely around him and lifting his leg to toss over one of Martin's, linking them together from head to toe. The wound Daisy had left him with twinged in pain at the movement.

Wait. Daisy?

They weren't in Scotland anymore.

The memories filtered back in, driving away the muffling comfort of sleep. The house, Annabelle Cane, Mikaele Salesa. The sudden return of all his body's physical needs, the blackness of exhaustion rising in his vision, Martin swaying next to him as his own strength gave out.

Jon stretched his awareness out and away from himself, reaching for that ever-present pool of knowledge that had been at the tips of his fingers since the moment the world ended in an attempt to figure out how they had gotten from fainting in a sitting room to sleeping comfortably in a warm bed.

There was nothing. Whatever had been blocking his sight before was still in effect. He didn't know whether to be delighted or terrified of the fact that here, in this moment, he was utterly and completely human.

He shifted a little, ducking his head to start pressing kisses along Martin's cheek and jaw, working his way to his lips. Martin let out another soft sound, twitching his head to the side at the contact. Jon could tell the moment he woke up by the small sigh he gave, though he kept his eyes closed, pretending to still sleep.

"Morning," Jon said, surprised by how rough his own voice was, and kissed Martin's nose.

It promptly wrinkled as Martin fought back a laugh, quickly smoothing his expression again to feign sleep.

"Martin." Jon kissed him again, on the lips this time, and the corner of Martin's mouth lifted in a smile.

"Shh, Jon, I'm sleeping."

"Sure you are." A kiss to his temple; a kiss to his forehead; a kiss to his nose, and then one on his chin that he was expecting to be on his lips, which made him open his eyes and frown, tilting his face against Jon's until he kissed him properly again.

"Morning," Martin mumbled, now that he was committed to wakefulness. "Please tell me we're back in Scotland and not in some weird Web mansion in the middle of the apocalypse."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, love," Jon said, lifting a hand to run through Martin's hair. It was a mess of tangles from everything they'd been through, and he was careful to not let his fingers catch and tug on any of them as he stroked it softly.

"Right." Martin sighed, releasing Jon's shirt with one hand to loop it around his shoulders and pull him closer. "How did we get into a bed?"

"No idea."

Martin paused, blinking slowly as he took that in. "Still not seeing anything?" he eventually asked, voice quiet.

"No," Jon said, equally soft. "No, it's- I'm completely disconnected from the Eye, here. I'm- I'm human."

Martin's hand ran over his back, tracing patterns as he spoke. "How does it feel?"

Jon hummed, deliberating on his answer. "It feels... bereft. Like I'm missing a limb. But at the same time like I've dropped a weight I've been carrying for so long that I didn't even notice how much it was dragging me down." He paused. "I'm excited to find out what all of this means,  _ why  _ I'm cut off, but I also feel exposed, because I can't see if there are any threats around us and I won't be able to protect you if we're in danger. Mostly, though..." He sighed, and kissed Martin's forehead again. "Mostly I'm just glad I've got a chance to hold you, and have you be the only thing I see. I'm sick of watching suffering."

Martin squeezed him tighter for a moment. "Me too," he said. "You seem... lighter. I'm glad to see that."

This kiss was longer, deeper; the sort that narrowed the entire world to just the two of them, the warmth of their shared presence, the feeling of their lips moving against each other.

Martin eventually pulled back from it with a regretful sigh. "I suppose we should probably get up and see what we've gotten ourselves into, then."

Jon made a noncommittal noise, not moving to leave the bed. "I'm sure the eldritch horrors can survive waiting for us if we have a bit of a lie-in."

Martin laughed. "Oh, yes, I'm sure. 'Sorry, I can't attend to the apocalypse right now, I'm feeling a bit tired and I need my beauty sleep.'"

"Exactly." He paused. "Actually. While we have a moment. I think I owe you an apology."

"Yeah?" Martin tilted his chin, giving him a confused look. "What for?"

"You  _ said  _ this was a trap. I didn't listen, I was too..." he trailed off, unsure of how to describe his own fascination with seeing what was in this house.

"Curious," Martin supplied. "Excited. Hopeful. Determined to look for the best in the situation, even though everything we've seen so far seems to prove the best no longer exists."

"...Yeah," Jon said. "Should have known better. Nothing's free from the Fears."

"Hey." Martin shook him slightly, looked directly into his eyes as he spoke. "You don't have to apologize for any of that. I'm the one that kept telling you to stop being so pessimistic, yeah?" He shrugged. "Besides, you gave me the decision on whether or not we checked it out. And... I wanted it to be true, too."

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hall outside. He froze, then pushed himself up on one elbow, ready to leap out of bed and fight if necessary.

There was a knock on the door.

"If you two are finally awake, there's a shower in the room across the hall," a voice said, and even though he'd passed out immediately after hearing it the first time Jon recognized Mikaele Salesa. "The kitchen is down the main stairs and to the left, you can't miss it. I'm sure you can figure out breakfast in your own time."

The footsteps moved off, and Jon sagged back down onto the bed.

"Fuck," he said quietly.

"Fuck," Martin agreed. "I genuinely don't know what to do with that."

"I mean..." Jon hesitated. "Annabelle did say we were safe here? Maybe we can trust that, at least until we, you know. Confront them?"

Martin raised an eyebrow at him. "Since when are you advocating trusting the Web?"

"I'm not," Jon sighed. "I just really,  _ really  _ want a day off."

Martin's lips twisted in thought. "We haven't...  _ seen  _ any active threats around. Just people we know  _ can  _ be threatening, when they want to be. It... I mean, it can't hurt to take advantage of the amenities here, right? Long as we keep an eye out for anything that might be dangerous?"

Jon gave him a wide-eyed, innocent expression. "I can't keep an Eye out, Martin, I've lost mine."

The look Martin gave him was absolutely furious, the sort of furious that meant he really,  _ really  _ didn't want to laugh at that joke but he was very close to doing so.

"So!" he said loudly, sitting up and tossing the sheets off of them both. "Mikaele Salesa, huh?"

Jon chuckled at the deliberate change of subject, sitting up as well. "It appears so."

"He was that antiques dealer, right?"

Jon tossed his legs over the side of the bed, casting a quick glance around the small room and nodding with approval when he spotted their bags and shoes sitting in a pile by the door. Both he and Martin were, thankfully, still dressed in the clothes they had been wearing upon arrival. "Probably closer to a... hm. Black market purveyor of supernatural curiosities, I'd say. But yes."

Martin paused with a hand in his hair, tugging at the knots. "Didn't he get blown up, or something? He's supposed to be dead."

Jon bit back a grin and gestured at his own chest. "Not everyone who gets blown up dies, Martin."

Martin rolled his eyes, climbing off the bed and stretching. "You're an outlier.  _ Statistically speaking, _ he shouldn't be here."

"Perhaps he faked his own death? I wouldn't be surprised if he had enemies he needed to avoi-  _ aaaaah!" _

This last cry was due to the fact that Jon had just stood up, and his injured leg had buckled under the weight. Martin rushed to catch him, supporting him until he felt confident enough to try again on his own.

"Right. Human," he muttered, putting most of his weight on the other leg and letting go of Martin's arm. "No supernatural healing, got it."

"You alright?" Martin was hovering, ready to catch him if he went down again.

"I think so. Just- it just surprised me. I'm fine."

"Okay." Martin stepped back, going over to their packs and starting to dig around for fresh clothes. "I was thinking we probably shouldn't leave each other's sight, so that means sharing the shower I'm afraid."

"That's fine." Jon limped over to him, considered kneeling down to help, and then decided he should probably give it a miss. "Might need the help keeping my balance anyway."

"Ready when you are, then." Martin stood, fresh clothes draped over his arm and a roll of bandages held in his hand. Jon stepped gingerly over to the door.

It opened onto a grand hallway, with high ceilings and various pieces of artwork scattered at elegant intervals down its length. Small tables with expensive-looking vases and statuettes were interspersed with paintings and tapestries hanging from the walls.

"Wow," Martin said, stopping in the doorway to take it all in.

"Quite." Jon started across the hallway to the door on the other side. "I can see why this place is such a draw for tourists."

"Still thinking Upton House, then?" Martin asked, following him.

"Still my best guess, yes. Oh-"

He'd pushed open the door, revealing another lavish room. It alone was larger than some flats he'd had over the years.

"This is a  _ bathroom?" _ Martin exclaimed from behind him.

"Probably not even the biggest one, if we're in a guest wing..." Jon stepped through the door, the noise of his footfalls echoing slightly off the tiled floor. It seemed to have all the requisite plumbing for a normal bathroom, just... more. The shower could have fit half a dozen people in it comfortably, and the counter that the sink was inset in took up an entire wall.

"Well then." Martin shook his head, walking over to the counter and setting down the things he was carrying. "I guess we should get to it."

They'd had a routine for their morning ablutions in the safehouse; it was a bit awkward running through it with them both in the room at the same time, but the size of the place meant they didn't get in each other's way at all. Jon sat on the lip of the bathtub after he brushed his teeth, easing the weight off his leg and carefully starting to unwrap the old bandages.

"How does it look?" Martin asked from the other side of the room, toothbrush still hanging out of his mouth.

"Better." Jon poked at the skin on either side of the wound and winced. It had scabbed over, but was still sore. "I'll be able to let it breathe while we shower, but I'll want to rebandage it before we go anywhere."

The water was warm, and clean, and Jon could feel himself relaxing under it as the dirt and grime of however long they'd spent walking was washed away down the drain. Martin offered to wash his hair for him, and he accepted the help gladly, nigh-on melting as he slowly worked his fingers across Jon's scalp. Jon was pretty sure Martin almost fell asleep where he was standing when he returned the favor.

Martin helped him with rebandaging his leg afterward, and they fetched their bags from the other room before making their way down the stairs.

Annabelle Cane passed by just as they reached the bottom of the staircase, wandering out of the door that presumably led to the kitchen with a piece of toast in one hand and an open book in the other. She waved at them with the hand holding the toast, barely raising her eyes from the book as she crossed through to another door and disappeared out of sight.

Jon let out a breath as soon as she was gone. "What the hell."

Martin seemed to be at just as much of a loss. "I mean... I suppose even spider people eat breakfast?"

"But she just..." he trailed off.

"I know what you mean," Martin said. She'd been at the top of their list of probably-enemies for so long, and they'd been operating under the assumption that any meeting with her would be a dramatic confrontation... and she was eating toast.

"Let's just go eat," Jon said, and Martin gestured for him to lead the way.

The kitchen, like the bathroom, was grand, but practical. Jon set about digging in the fridge for eggs, while Martin pulled their old tin of tea out of his bag and started the kettle boiling.

"By the way," Jon said, once he had a pan on the stove and Martin had found the bread. "How did you recognize Annabelle, at the door?"

"Hm?" Martin glanced up from the toaster. "What do you mean?"

"Yesterday. Or- however long ago it was we got here, I don't know how long we were asleep. You recognized her right away, how did you know?" He cracked an egg into the pan.

Martin raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?"

Jon frowned. "Yes...?"

"Jon." Martin clicked the kettle off as it started to whistle. "I mean... half her skull is caved in. How did you  _ not?" _

Jon blinked. "Half her...?"

"Yeah. It was in, like, the first statement we found about her, from that psych lab? It's all spiderwebs now, did you seriously not notice?"

Jon stared at him for a second, mouth hanging open. He seriously had not. "I'd... forgotten about that?" he managed.

Martin burst out laughing. "You're ridiculous. Absolutely,  _ adorably, _ ridiculous."

"You're one to talk," Jon muttered, and earned an eye roll for his trouble.

Eating breakfast together, in a quiet kitchen with morning light spilling in from outside, felt like a dream. They sat close enough that their shoulders could press against each other, and just talked. They avoided any discussion of their current predicament, launching off from Jon's memories of his childhood tour of a possibly-Upton-but-maybe-not National Trust House when he was twelve and branching into other childhood memories, other school trips, other times when things had been, if not good, than at least normal.

Eventually Jon sighed, sitting back in his chair and pushing his plate away. "I'd forgotten how good food tastes," he said.

"I hadn't," Martin said, mopping up the last of his egg yolk with a piece of toast. "But I've missed it."

Jon hummed, closing his eyes. "I've missed... all of this.  _ Living, _ being human."

"Yeah." Martin paused. "Is it weird that I feel safe here? Given that it's, you know, the hideout of one of our worst enemies."

"Probably?" Jon shrugged. "But either they're trying to lull us into a false sense of security, or... they just legitimately don't want to deal with us until we've rested up a bit. Either way, we're safe for now."

"Probably waiting till we can survive a full conversation without fainting dramatically halfway through," Martin said, nodding sagely.

Jon chuckled. "Pretty much. God, we really timed that well, didn't we? I'm pretty sure we went down at exactly the same time."

Martin snorted, spreading his hands out in front of him with a flourish. "Synchronized fainting, the newest event from the upcoming Olympic games. Please meet the reigning British champions: Sims and Blackwood, The Avenging Angels."

Jon's chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh, surprising himself with how bright it was. "We'll be taking home the gold, I'm sure."

Martin knocked their shoulders together, smiling. "Hey Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happens. Whatever  _ this  _ is," - he waved a hand at the house around them - "I'm glad we came here. I'm glad we got this morning."

Jon looked at him. His eyes were soft in the morning light, sparkling as he looked back, and his hair was curling violently as it dried. Jon reached out, cupping his face in one hand, and kissed him gently.

"Me too," he said. "No matter how short this break is. I'm glad we had a chance to take it."

Martin nodded. "Are you ready to face the music, then?"

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Literally so, if Salesa's playing the piano again."

"Yeah, Jon, that was joke I was making," Martin said, chuckling.

"Ah," Jon said. "Right." He paused, lips twisting in a wry smile, and Martin stared back for a moment before shaking his head and laughing.

"Right," he echoed, pushing his chair back from the table and standing. "C'mon. Let's go meet our hosts."


End file.
